The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary...
....but in my heart the sun will shine!
(The Whole Poem...)
Read more!
Friday, September 08, 2006
Tuesday, September 05, 2006
A new mini poll, a virus and a hefty Doctor's bill.
I have finally created a new mini poll. Summer, if not officially gone, is waving good bye. The local pools are closed. All schools, even those in the north are open for business again. And we, despite another virus hitting us, and hitting us and hitting us and finally sending me scrambling for a doctor this morning (before having established myself with a new practice) started back to school.
My wonderful children dug out their books from closets, packing boxes and corners, dusted off their notebooks, sharpened pencils and set themselves up while I tiredly carried a very cranky but pathetic 16 month around in my arms. I do not understand why one must stand with her and can not sit but there it is - what else do you do for a baby so obviously miserable and in pain.
A few children are suffering from similar symtoms as Elsa, but bravely hit the books and made great progress despite my absence for a full 2 hours at the new doctors' office. First I had to find the place and while I was told I would find it by following the hospital signs, I was not told there are only two signs and one with it's arrow hidden behind a thick bush. Slowing down and streaching up high in the drivers seat of my tank, er I mean van, I was just able to glimpse the arrow pointing right.
Elsa fell asleep as I wound my way through S. Main searching, searching, searching for those elusive blue hospital signs. Just as I was certain that I must have missed Anna Lewis Lane, a blue sign popped up directing me to the right. I took it and promptly missed Hospital Street. I finally found both the road and the building I was looking for. One look at the busy parking lot and its tiny spots capable only of holding European style cars convinced me to park in the Surgeons' Building whose Cadilac sized parking slots were, strangely, all empty.
Despite great effort not to jiggle Elsa awake as I removed her from her car seat - she still awoke but as she was already in my arms, and I was standing up, I had few complaints from her. We crossed the street and started out our first visit to the new practice on fine footing by opening Door Number One and stepping into - an examination room. An occupied examination room. The doctor pleasantly asked if she could help me and I blushingly asked her where the reception area was. She kindly showed me the door next to hers - marked OFFICE.
I apolozied to the 4 year old patient and his mum and slipped through the OFFICE door. With Elsa precariously balanced in my left arm, diaper bag at my feet and my Mother's daily Planner in hand I filled 12 names into the five blank lines titled LIST ALL CHILDREN STARTING WITH THE ELDEST.
Paperwork dutifully completed, Elsa and I waited for our turn. Before long a cheerful looking nurse came along and showed us a room in the back, which sure enough had its own exit door. I was tempted to lock it, but was worried I would forget to unlock it. Besides - there probably weren't too many other newbies out there that would mistakenly believe that Door Number Sixteen was the OFFICE door.
Elsa and I proceeded with flying colours through the rest of the appointment, weighed ourselves at 22.2 lbs and determined that we did not have a temperature and nor did we have an ear infection. No - no sinus drip but the throat was red. So we did a Strep Culture. Negative. So one hundred and twenty dollars later we determined that we probably have a.... virus. Unless it is chicken pox - which by the way is going around.
So here I sit - somewhat poorer but with a new poll up and I realized I had forgotten to check the stats of my summer long, summer cold poll before posting the new poll. Please accept my apologies. However, I do believe that we are a tough gang here at mum2twelve as at last glance to the stats showed those who pop a sudafed, or the like and then move on were far in the lead!
Enjoy the new poll and I will try to not leave it up all Fall season before changing it! God Bless! Read more!
My wonderful children dug out their books from closets, packing boxes and corners, dusted off their notebooks, sharpened pencils and set themselves up while I tiredly carried a very cranky but pathetic 16 month around in my arms. I do not understand why one must stand with her and can not sit but there it is - what else do you do for a baby so obviously miserable and in pain.
A few children are suffering from similar symtoms as Elsa, but bravely hit the books and made great progress despite my absence for a full 2 hours at the new doctors' office. First I had to find the place and while I was told I would find it by following the hospital signs, I was not told there are only two signs and one with it's arrow hidden behind a thick bush. Slowing down and streaching up high in the drivers seat of my tank, er I mean van, I was just able to glimpse the arrow pointing right.
Elsa fell asleep as I wound my way through S. Main searching, searching, searching for those elusive blue hospital signs. Just as I was certain that I must have missed Anna Lewis Lane, a blue sign popped up directing me to the right. I took it and promptly missed Hospital Street. I finally found both the road and the building I was looking for. One look at the busy parking lot and its tiny spots capable only of holding European style cars convinced me to park in the Surgeons' Building whose Cadilac sized parking slots were, strangely, all empty.
Despite great effort not to jiggle Elsa awake as I removed her from her car seat - she still awoke but as she was already in my arms, and I was standing up, I had few complaints from her. We crossed the street and started out our first visit to the new practice on fine footing by opening Door Number One and stepping into - an examination room. An occupied examination room. The doctor pleasantly asked if she could help me and I blushingly asked her where the reception area was. She kindly showed me the door next to hers - marked OFFICE.
I apolozied to the 4 year old patient and his mum and slipped through the OFFICE door. With Elsa precariously balanced in my left arm, diaper bag at my feet and my Mother's daily Planner in hand I filled 12 names into the five blank lines titled LIST ALL CHILDREN STARTING WITH THE ELDEST.
Paperwork dutifully completed, Elsa and I waited for our turn. Before long a cheerful looking nurse came along and showed us a room in the back, which sure enough had its own exit door. I was tempted to lock it, but was worried I would forget to unlock it. Besides - there probably weren't too many other newbies out there that would mistakenly believe that Door Number Sixteen was the OFFICE door.
Elsa and I proceeded with flying colours through the rest of the appointment, weighed ourselves at 22.2 lbs and determined that we did not have a temperature and nor did we have an ear infection. No - no sinus drip but the throat was red. So we did a Strep Culture. Negative. So one hundred and twenty dollars later we determined that we probably have a.... virus. Unless it is chicken pox - which by the way is going around.
So here I sit - somewhat poorer but with a new poll up and I realized I had forgotten to check the stats of my summer long, summer cold poll before posting the new poll. Please accept my apologies. However, I do believe that we are a tough gang here at mum2twelve as at last glance to the stats showed those who pop a sudafed, or the like and then move on were far in the lead!
Enjoy the new poll and I will try to not leave it up all Fall season before changing it! God Bless! Read more!
Animal Planet salutes Steve Irwin...
Our family has memories of many many, nights spent cuddled together on the couch as we watched Steve, the great Croc Hunter, wrestle with his most recent rescue. Benjamin, for a time, was Steve the Croc Hunter, dressed in khakies and wrestling with the huge hard pasatic life like croc his brother gave him for his 4th birthday.
Nathaniel spent many a soundless night watching "Teve" hunt down snakes rescue kangaroos and travel the world with his crew, the two years that he struggled with ear infections and his ensuing deafness. Once sound finally returned to Nathaniel's life - 'Teve's family was part of ours.
My favourite epsiode, of course, was the night we saw Bindi Sue born. I was hoping maybe one day to see a similar episode dedicated to Steve and Terri's infant son, Bob and I was especially looking forward to watching Steve interact with his son.
It was with great sadness that I broke the news this afternoon to our children. We were celebrating a birthday yesterday so Hugo and I kept the news to ourselves for the day. We prayed part of our Chaplet of Divine Mercy for Steve, his family and friends.
We will continue to pray for you Steve, and your family! What a life you lived, what life you gave to the world. It will be a sadder, smaller place without you!
We love you Steve.
Here is a great link where one can celebrate Steve's life and memories!
Animal Planet celebrates Steve...
GOD BLESS YOU STEVE! Read more!
Monday, September 04, 2006
Recycling only please!
When we first toured this house the owner, whose husband had grown up in the house, proudly showed us the laundry shute that was accesible on two different floors. A most modern convenience that had been outdated by the re-location of the washer and dryer (thankfully) to the main floor from the basement, the owner gleefully showed us how it opened and pointed out the cute flowers painted on the lids of the shute's two locations, the main and second floor. I tried to restrain my inward shudders from showing as I thought of all the dangerous games young children could think of to play with such a device. I determined then and there that we would nail both covers shut as soon as we moved in.
However - before we had moved much of anything in besides our paint and ladders, the kids discovered a most creative use of this shute - place the recycling bin under it in the basement and drop all of the cans down there - straight from the laundry area beside the kitchen.
So I relented. It was after all quite a useful idea.
Then Milo moved in, (another story for another time) resulting in The Lions Den springing up - a club in the basement. This brought with it a new use for the recycling shute.
Knock on it below so that those above on htemain floor knew you wanted to speak to someone upstairs... and if you wanted to speak someone in the "den" below, one simply opened the recycling shute and shouted below.
Nifty idea - until 6 year old Nathaniel stuck his head down it with 3 year old Emma promtly closing the lid - jamming his head. Nathaniel's screams of rage and terror could be heard through out the house, as well as Emma's terrified pleas for help. As I was occupied getting the baby to sleep - Hugo had to deal with it.
The communication box is once again for - recycling only please. And as Nathaniel's bruised forehead and wound below the corresonding eye can attest to - this is all for the best. Read more!
However - before we had moved much of anything in besides our paint and ladders, the kids discovered a most creative use of this shute - place the recycling bin under it in the basement and drop all of the cans down there - straight from the laundry area beside the kitchen.
So I relented. It was after all quite a useful idea.
Then Milo moved in, (another story for another time) resulting in The Lions Den springing up - a club in the basement. This brought with it a new use for the recycling shute.
Knock on it below so that those above on htemain floor knew you wanted to speak to someone upstairs... and if you wanted to speak someone in the "den" below, one simply opened the recycling shute and shouted below.
Nifty idea - until 6 year old Nathaniel stuck his head down it with 3 year old Emma promtly closing the lid - jamming his head. Nathaniel's screams of rage and terror could be heard through out the house, as well as Emma's terrified pleas for help. As I was occupied getting the baby to sleep - Hugo had to deal with it.
The communication box is once again for - recycling only please. And as Nathaniel's bruised forehead and wound below the corresonding eye can attest to - this is all for the best. Read more!
Auto spell check...
The word processor that I am currently using does, as most do, auto spell checks while I type. Today I am tying up new routines, (new house - new routines) and when I reviewed what I had typed I found the following:
First Tuesday of the month:
Sweep and wash B & E's floor during bedtime routine, if not done earlier.
Stairs need to be swept and stiffened
Downstairs hallway - swept and stiffened
What I had typed was swiffered.... swept and swiffered!
I imagine that the children should find it interesting watching me trying to stiffen the stairs and the hallway. Whatever would we do without automated spell checks?! Read more!
First Tuesday of the month:
Sweep and wash B & E's floor during bedtime routine, if not done earlier.
Stairs need to be swept and stiffened
Downstairs hallway - swept and stiffened
What I had typed was swiffered.... swept and swiffered!
I imagine that the children should find it interesting watching me trying to stiffen the stairs and the hallway. Whatever would we do without automated spell checks?! Read more!
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Who needs an alarm clock...
...when you have a three year old who, unfailingly, at 6:30 opens your door and with eyes bright and shining with life announces any one of the following:
It's morning time Mummy, tan I turn your light on?
It's morning Mummy and I need my morning baba!
And lastly my most favourite wake up call is:
I love you Mummy! Read more!
It's morning time Mummy, tan I turn your light on?
It's morning Mummy and I need my morning baba!
And lastly my most favourite wake up call is:
I love you Mummy! Read more!
Saturday, September 02, 2006
What do you do...
when your six year old mistakenly believes you did not get any of the fresh biscuits baked for breakfast, and so he carefully cuts the small bitten parts off of one of his and then graciously presents it to you with immense delight in sharing.
Why you eat it, of course and delight in his willingness to share even a crumb of these delicious biscuits! Read more!
Friday, September 01, 2006
What's for dinner tonight...
Trying to find some variation to the stero-typical Friday fish fry or baked brown beans, I will be offering the following for dinner tonight.
Black Bean and couscous salad:
Prep time: 30 minutes
Ready in: 35 minutes
Servings: 8 people
INGREDIENTS:
1 cup uncooked couscous
1 1/4 cups chicken broth
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon red wine vinegar
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
8 green onions, chopped
1 red bell pepper, seeded and chopped
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 cup frozen corn kernels, thawed
2 (15 ounce) cans black beans, drained
salt and pepper to taste
DIRECTIONS:
Bring chicken broth to a boil in a 2 quart or larger sauce pan and stir in the couscous. Cover the pot and remove from heat. Let stand for 5 minutes.
In a large bowl, whisk together the olive oil, lime juice, vinegar and cumin. Add green onions, red pepper, cilantro, corn and beans and toss to coat.
Fluff the couscous well, breaking up any chunks. Add to the bowl with the vegetables and mix well. Season with salt and pepper to taste and serve at once or refrigerate until ready to serve.
(Not being a big fan of its flavour - I do not add the cilantro!)
Found on: Allrecipes.com
Obviously I have to double this recipe and I will be serving it with (store bought) corn tortillas lightly fried on a dry (no grease or oil) frying pan with hummus on the side to dip the tortillas in.
Bon Appetite!
Read more!
Another trip down memory lane...
As we stood there surveying the smoking remains of our deck and the slick oil that was slewed across the dining and kitchen linoleum with hot melted spots issuing nasty smells my husband looked at me and said; “You know this is really all your fault!’
“Mine?” I asked incredulously. “ How can that be? I was not even here when it happened?”
“Exactly!” he grumbled. “If you had been here, I would not have gotten annoyed with you and distracted. If I had not been distracted, I would not have forgotten I had put the water on to boil before I went out to chop wood. And if I had not been out there, I would have been here to see that I had put the wrong burner on and that the oil was smoking before it caught fire!”
I stared at him and longed to argue with him about the irrationality of his logic but opted instead to feel grateful that he and all the children had survived what had only twenty minutes earlier been a raging fire.
Our then four year old daughter, Gabriela, had been the one to discover the flames licking the kitchen cupboards over the stove and issued the alarm that the house was on fire. Her 4 week old brother Noah was, for a change, quiet and asleep in his swing in the living room beside the dining area that opened off of the galley sized kitchen. I was down the road having a cup of tea with a neighbor while enjoying a friendly chat with her and her husband. It was late in the Canadian spring with the snow gone but with some days still chilled and at times cold and rainy. Cool enough, in fact, to warrant a small fire in the stove.
Rushing to see what Gabriela was yelling about, Amanda, then 12, had hurried out whomever of her siblings that were in the house, not yet noticing her sleeping enfant brother. Then, following her fathers orders, she slid the patio door open and rushed out into the cool crisp air ahead of him while he cautiously slipped out the door carrying the flaming pot of oil ahead of him. Once outside though his sure footing was lost on the damp slippery deck and as he stumbled, the oil sloshed over the sides of the pot forcing him to drop it causing a wall of flames to race across the deck blocking him from our daughter’s view. Her screams of horror raised higher than the flames and the children scrambled around the side of the house to see the flames licking up the tree and curling around the legs of our propane barbeque. All held their breath while my oldest, looked through the living room window saw to her horror, her baby brother still snoozing in his swing - oblivious to all that was happening. She now realized that these 8 foot flames not only separated her from her father, whom she was certain had been engulfed in them, but also from her tiny baby brother.
Bitterly berating herself for not having seen the baby earlier in his swing she stared helplessly at him through the window, wondering how to get him out or how to warn her other siblings that he was there. The flames were between her and the only means of exiting the deck as the section she was trapped on was at least ten feet above the ground. Suddenly a gentle breeze tousled her bangs and instead of the flames being fed by it - they suddenly and completly died. Her father was revealed to her and he yelled at her to wait there as he dashed back into the house. While disaster greeted him - the flames that had been crawling up the wall behind the stove and eating at the edges of the cupboards had also mysteriously died. Simultaneously - it would seem. Instead of finding the whole kitchen engulfed in flames as he had been certain he would, there was only smoke and oil everywhere punctuated with the smell of melted rubber. Once he had made certain no danger remained he allowed the children back in and they excitedly clamored about him asking what had happened and how had the oil spilt all over and why hadn’t the barbeque blown up like they thought it would and how was it the tree did not burst into flames especially since it was a cedar…
Totally oblivious to all of this excitement I had drained the dregs of my tea, refused a second pouring, said my good byes and trudged on home.
It was a whole summer, two series of cupboards being rebuilt, the kitchen flooring torn up and replaced as well as new rugs all downstairs and the whole of the downstairs repainted before I had my kitchen back in working order. And all because I had stayed down the road for a cup of tea. Imagine that! Read more!
“Mine?” I asked incredulously. “ How can that be? I was not even here when it happened?”
“Exactly!” he grumbled. “If you had been here, I would not have gotten annoyed with you and distracted. If I had not been distracted, I would not have forgotten I had put the water on to boil before I went out to chop wood. And if I had not been out there, I would have been here to see that I had put the wrong burner on and that the oil was smoking before it caught fire!”
I stared at him and longed to argue with him about the irrationality of his logic but opted instead to feel grateful that he and all the children had survived what had only twenty minutes earlier been a raging fire.
Our then four year old daughter, Gabriela, had been the one to discover the flames licking the kitchen cupboards over the stove and issued the alarm that the house was on fire. Her 4 week old brother Noah was, for a change, quiet and asleep in his swing in the living room beside the dining area that opened off of the galley sized kitchen. I was down the road having a cup of tea with a neighbor while enjoying a friendly chat with her and her husband. It was late in the Canadian spring with the snow gone but with some days still chilled and at times cold and rainy. Cool enough, in fact, to warrant a small fire in the stove.
Rushing to see what Gabriela was yelling about, Amanda, then 12, had hurried out whomever of her siblings that were in the house, not yet noticing her sleeping enfant brother. Then, following her fathers orders, she slid the patio door open and rushed out into the cool crisp air ahead of him while he cautiously slipped out the door carrying the flaming pot of oil ahead of him. Once outside though his sure footing was lost on the damp slippery deck and as he stumbled, the oil sloshed over the sides of the pot forcing him to drop it causing a wall of flames to race across the deck blocking him from our daughter’s view. Her screams of horror raised higher than the flames and the children scrambled around the side of the house to see the flames licking up the tree and curling around the legs of our propane barbeque. All held their breath while my oldest, looked through the living room window saw to her horror, her baby brother still snoozing in his swing - oblivious to all that was happening. She now realized that these 8 foot flames not only separated her from her father, whom she was certain had been engulfed in them, but also from her tiny baby brother.
Bitterly berating herself for not having seen the baby earlier in his swing she stared helplessly at him through the window, wondering how to get him out or how to warn her other siblings that he was there. The flames were between her and the only means of exiting the deck as the section she was trapped on was at least ten feet above the ground. Suddenly a gentle breeze tousled her bangs and instead of the flames being fed by it - they suddenly and completly died. Her father was revealed to her and he yelled at her to wait there as he dashed back into the house. While disaster greeted him - the flames that had been crawling up the wall behind the stove and eating at the edges of the cupboards had also mysteriously died. Simultaneously - it would seem. Instead of finding the whole kitchen engulfed in flames as he had been certain he would, there was only smoke and oil everywhere punctuated with the smell of melted rubber. Once he had made certain no danger remained he allowed the children back in and they excitedly clamored about him asking what had happened and how had the oil spilt all over and why hadn’t the barbeque blown up like they thought it would and how was it the tree did not burst into flames especially since it was a cedar…
Totally oblivious to all of this excitement I had drained the dregs of my tea, refused a second pouring, said my good byes and trudged on home.
It was a whole summer, two series of cupboards being rebuilt, the kitchen flooring torn up and replaced as well as new rugs all downstairs and the whole of the downstairs repainted before I had my kitchen back in working order. And all because I had stayed down the road for a cup of tea. Imagine that! Read more!
Monday, August 28, 2006
The Marks of Today's Society
The other night I was out buying groceries and I heard some giggles and chuckles around the corner and as I pushed my cart forward a mother, somewhat distracted, came around the it. No doubt she was heavily concentrated on how to make her dollar go as far as possible and behind her, the owners of the giggles and chuckles showed themselves. A daughter about 13 and a son of perhaps 11. They were playing with a most absurd looking ball that look more like a sea anemone than a ball.
Their enjoyment brought a smile to my lips and I felt uplifted seeing children of that age enjoying themselves in such an innocent manner. But before I could draw my eyes away the daughter flipped a knowing look at her brother and stopped behind their mother who was carefully studying the prices on variety of brands. She then made a most obscene gesture with the toy, directed at her mother. She chortled aloud in delight at the woman's ignorance of the insult just played on her. The very woman who is raising her and most likely gave her birth.
My eyes lighted on the face of the younger old son. His eyes caught mine and I did not relent, I did not pretend I had not seen what I had seen. I held his eyes in mine. For a brief second I saw in his eyes the realization of the shame of what he had just participated in. Then he squared his shoulders, defiance filled his eyes and he turned to play again with his sister. They continued to follow her, giggling as they once more so innocently threw this weird ball back and forth.
I saw them once more that evening, but I did not delight any longer in their seemingly childish and delightful entertainment as I had seen the mark of today's pornographic society on their play. It saddened me greatly and many times since then that little boy's eyes have haunted me. Let us all remember our youth that is being bombarded by society's idolization of the body and of sex and pray for them as we go throughout the day. Read more!
Their enjoyment brought a smile to my lips and I felt uplifted seeing children of that age enjoying themselves in such an innocent manner. But before I could draw my eyes away the daughter flipped a knowing look at her brother and stopped behind their mother who was carefully studying the prices on variety of brands. She then made a most obscene gesture with the toy, directed at her mother. She chortled aloud in delight at the woman's ignorance of the insult just played on her. The very woman who is raising her and most likely gave her birth.
My eyes lighted on the face of the younger old son. His eyes caught mine and I did not relent, I did not pretend I had not seen what I had seen. I held his eyes in mine. For a brief second I saw in his eyes the realization of the shame of what he had just participated in. Then he squared his shoulders, defiance filled his eyes and he turned to play again with his sister. They continued to follow her, giggling as they once more so innocently threw this weird ball back and forth.
I saw them once more that evening, but I did not delight any longer in their seemingly childish and delightful entertainment as I had seen the mark of today's pornographic society on their play. It saddened me greatly and many times since then that little boy's eyes have haunted me. Let us all remember our youth that is being bombarded by society's idolization of the body and of sex and pray for them as we go throughout the day. Read more!
Friday, August 25, 2006
Yesterday I had the opportunity to wrestle with the question of how early should a child be ushered into independence. We were in the mountains picking up merchandise for the business and had an impromptu picnic in a beautiful park that had a quiet lazy spring bubbling through it.
As we carried our bags of groceries and the boxes of chicken that wafted delightful scents into the air through the park, I spied a mother crossing the bridge over the spring who was accompanied by two little children. A slight young girl who looked to be about three and beside her, a little boy who was a mirror image of our little Elsa in that he carried the same adorable mop of red curls on his head and sported invisible eyebrows. He was plumper that our Elsa, but about the same height and I was so curious as to how close they were in age so I asked the mum how old he was.
She paused and stared at him before replying; "Hmmmm, I think maybe around 2." I looked at him again, very confused by her uncertainty and because if he was two - he was very wobbly a walker for a 2 year old and well, very short. The mother must have noted my confusion as she turned to look at him and hummed again.
I said helpfully, "Well, my little red head here is about 16 months..."
“Ahh,” she said, "Yeah, I guess he too is maybe a year and half. Yeah, he is probably about that, now that I think of it. " And then addressing what must have been utter puzzlement on my face, she continued.
"Oh he's not mine, I just baby sit him."
Now perhaps this was a last minute arrangement for neighbor that had an emergency and so this mum was not too familiar with her little charge. But if she is his regular caregiver I have to wonder, really wonder at her having no clue as to his age. There is such a huge difference between 16 months and 24 months in terms of development and what kind of expecatations to have of a child. If she is his regular caregiver how could she be so disinterested in his age?
Later I watched her push her daughter on a swing and watched how this little fellow sturdily held onto the chains of his own swing as it flowed back and forth in the air.
I pondered.
Elsa at the ripe old age of 16 months and surrounded by all her slaves, err siblings has never had to learn how to swing alone yet. And so I pondered some more about that.
Independence is all well and fine I thought, and it might lead this little boy to great things later in life, but I decided that it was not necessarily the optimal choice for one so young. We leave our childhood behind soon enough as is, never to return. While I do not want Elsa to babied into her adulthood neither do I want her rushed into it. I am happy that yesterday she was able to cuddle on her older sister’s lap on a swing and lay her head on her sisters shoulder and enjoy the gentle breeze in her bangs while her sister slowly and carefully swung with a most precious cargo embraced in her arms. So I hope for this little boy’s sake that this was a one day only arrangement and that he is normally surrounded with the same love and support that Elsa is given all day long, seven days a week.
I hope Elsa also achieves the independence that this sturdy little fellow shows, but that she does it in her own time and is neither held back into her babyhood, nor rushed out of it. Read more!
As we carried our bags of groceries and the boxes of chicken that wafted delightful scents into the air through the park, I spied a mother crossing the bridge over the spring who was accompanied by two little children. A slight young girl who looked to be about three and beside her, a little boy who was a mirror image of our little Elsa in that he carried the same adorable mop of red curls on his head and sported invisible eyebrows. He was plumper that our Elsa, but about the same height and I was so curious as to how close they were in age so I asked the mum how old he was.
She paused and stared at him before replying; "Hmmmm, I think maybe around 2." I looked at him again, very confused by her uncertainty and because if he was two - he was very wobbly a walker for a 2 year old and well, very short. The mother must have noted my confusion as she turned to look at him and hummed again.
I said helpfully, "Well, my little red head here is about 16 months..."
“Ahh,” she said, "Yeah, I guess he too is maybe a year and half. Yeah, he is probably about that, now that I think of it. " And then addressing what must have been utter puzzlement on my face, she continued.
"Oh he's not mine, I just baby sit him."
Now perhaps this was a last minute arrangement for neighbor that had an emergency and so this mum was not too familiar with her little charge. But if she is his regular caregiver I have to wonder, really wonder at her having no clue as to his age. There is such a huge difference between 16 months and 24 months in terms of development and what kind of expecatations to have of a child. If she is his regular caregiver how could she be so disinterested in his age?
Later I watched her push her daughter on a swing and watched how this little fellow sturdily held onto the chains of his own swing as it flowed back and forth in the air.
I pondered.
Elsa at the ripe old age of 16 months and surrounded by all her slaves, err siblings has never had to learn how to swing alone yet. And so I pondered some more about that.
Independence is all well and fine I thought, and it might lead this little boy to great things later in life, but I decided that it was not necessarily the optimal choice for one so young. We leave our childhood behind soon enough as is, never to return. While I do not want Elsa to babied into her adulthood neither do I want her rushed into it. I am happy that yesterday she was able to cuddle on her older sister’s lap on a swing and lay her head on her sisters shoulder and enjoy the gentle breeze in her bangs while her sister slowly and carefully swung with a most precious cargo embraced in her arms. So I hope for this little boy’s sake that this was a one day only arrangement and that he is normally surrounded with the same love and support that Elsa is given all day long, seven days a week.
I hope Elsa also achieves the independence that this sturdy little fellow shows, but that she does it in her own time and is neither held back into her babyhood, nor rushed out of it. Read more!
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Padre Alberto Hurtado Cruchaga
- Cannonized on the 23rd of October 2005 by Pope Benedict XVI at Rome Italy.
To learn more about this Saint, whose feast day was yesterday, click here and here. Read more!
Thursday, August 17, 2006
I'm bored...
Periodically I am longing to hear this statement expressed by my children as in this home as we are not allowed to be bored. Correction, we are not allowed to say aloud that we are bored because in a household this size there should never be a reason to be bored.
So if someone in this family, states that they are bored there is a host of extra chores just itching to be completed by a bored child. So everynow and then, when that list becomes exceptionally long I lay in wait, like the cop in a speed trap, the spider in her web, ready to pounce on the first child who sighs and then unthinkingly says: "I'm bored, there's nothing to do here."
It is amusing to see the reaction of an older, more wiley and experienced child hear a younger sibling say this for the first time that they are old enough for that chore list - about 6 years old in this house.
Some will jump up and hush the child looking around to see if their younger sibling has been over heard.
"Shh - you are NOT bored!"
"Am too!"
"Psst come here, let me explain why you are not bored!"
Or, then there is the adult child who is home for a visit who overhears this mis-statement and with eyes twinking begins to regale the bored child with tales of the endless chores they faced the day they mistakenly said that they were bored.
However, a new twist has arisen. Today as we were doing normal everyday chores after breakfast, Anna who is 13, informed me that she had a new plan for when she is... bored!
"I was thinking that instead of lying around on the couch or wishing I could use the computer when I'm... bored, I could bake, learn new recipees and such."
"And clean up after your baking?" I asked nervously.
"Oh yes - of course!" she replied enthusiastically.
And so now I have another reason to hope for boredom to prevail in our home; a room full of boxes to be unpacked on my list of chores for the bored, and an empty cookie jar!
Any ideas how I could perhaps entrap a child into saying they are bored? Read more!
So if someone in this family, states that they are bored there is a host of extra chores just itching to be completed by a bored child. So everynow and then, when that list becomes exceptionally long I lay in wait, like the cop in a speed trap, the spider in her web, ready to pounce on the first child who sighs and then unthinkingly says: "I'm bored, there's nothing to do here."
It is amusing to see the reaction of an older, more wiley and experienced child hear a younger sibling say this for the first time that they are old enough for that chore list - about 6 years old in this house.
Some will jump up and hush the child looking around to see if their younger sibling has been over heard.
"Shh - you are NOT bored!"
"Am too!"
"Psst come here, let me explain why you are not bored!"
Or, then there is the adult child who is home for a visit who overhears this mis-statement and with eyes twinking begins to regale the bored child with tales of the endless chores they faced the day they mistakenly said that they were bored.
However, a new twist has arisen. Today as we were doing normal everyday chores after breakfast, Anna who is 13, informed me that she had a new plan for when she is... bored!
"I was thinking that instead of lying around on the couch or wishing I could use the computer when I'm... bored, I could bake, learn new recipees and such."
"And clean up after your baking?" I asked nervously.
"Oh yes - of course!" she replied enthusiastically.
And so now I have another reason to hope for boredom to prevail in our home; a room full of boxes to be unpacked on my list of chores for the bored, and an empty cookie jar!
Any ideas how I could perhaps entrap a child into saying they are bored? Read more!
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Today...
...one of my cherished children announced, "Oh my, its less than five months to Christmas!"
To which I replied "And even less to Advent".
"Oh.... yeah.", she responded a little less enthusiastically.
But what, I ask you, would Chistmas be - without Advent, without the waiting. And oh BTW even though only one reader attempted to guess where I found the missing advent wreath - I will indulge you - it was in my OTHER bedroom closet, neatly stacked between two boxes in the front.
But do you think I have a clue where EITHER of my two wreaths are at this moment? Ha - you will just have to wait and see.... Read more!
To which I replied "And even less to Advent".
"Oh.... yeah.", she responded a little less enthusiastically.
But what, I ask you, would Chistmas be - without Advent, without the waiting. And oh BTW even though only one reader attempted to guess where I found the missing advent wreath - I will indulge you - it was in my OTHER bedroom closet, neatly stacked between two boxes in the front.
But do you think I have a clue where EITHER of my two wreaths are at this moment? Ha - you will just have to wait and see.... Read more!
Tickled Pink!
I am sure that most of my readers, if not all of you, are familiar with Sister Patricia of the Franciscan Card website as well as the Joy Notes, a daily Catholic ezine that is received Monday through Friday. And - if you know Sister and especially you recieve her Joynotes, than you know that she has been once more preparing another one of her wonderful books. This time it is about reconciliation and will be in print by, I believe, early September.
But what I bet none of you know is that this book will contain an article written by none other than (drum roll please) mum2twelve. Yes! Your own humble, down to earth, never pat herself on the back mum2twelve was asked to write a real bonafide, had to meet a deadline and be edited and then resubmit it, article about how to present Reconciliation to your child.
I was just tickled pink and floating on air for days! And I was truely humbled to be asked to write such an important article. I believe the Sisters must have really prayed up a storm while I wrote this essay, as it just flowed and then when I thought I was all finished, more ideas hit me. "Oh I should write about venial sin versus mortal, I should add a few paragraphs about..." but nothing would come, not even a syllable. I realized that if I attempted to put another word on the paper - it would just not work and since I knew the Sisters were praying for the success of the book, I suspected that it was their prayers that enabled it all to come together so smoothly. Therfore, as the words stopped flowing and I could not put another sentence together that was worth writing, I came to the conclusion that I must have said all that the Holy Spirit wanted said!
I hope you will all take the opportunity to take a peek at what Sister Patricia has put together in this book and maybe even consider buying a book or two. (No - I don't get royalties, just a by line!)
I, myself, have ordered two. One for our family and one for a gift. I just haven't decided who to give it to yet. I have offered it to one (extended) family member who is non catholic, but they have not shown any interest so... any number of possibilities are open. And Christmas is coming so you better start making your lists. Read more!
But what I bet none of you know is that this book will contain an article written by none other than (drum roll please) mum2twelve. Yes! Your own humble, down to earth, never pat herself on the back mum2twelve was asked to write a real bonafide, had to meet a deadline and be edited and then resubmit it, article about how to present Reconciliation to your child.
I was just tickled pink and floating on air for days! And I was truely humbled to be asked to write such an important article. I believe the Sisters must have really prayed up a storm while I wrote this essay, as it just flowed and then when I thought I was all finished, more ideas hit me. "Oh I should write about venial sin versus mortal, I should add a few paragraphs about..." but nothing would come, not even a syllable. I realized that if I attempted to put another word on the paper - it would just not work and since I knew the Sisters were praying for the success of the book, I suspected that it was their prayers that enabled it all to come together so smoothly. Therfore, as the words stopped flowing and I could not put another sentence together that was worth writing, I came to the conclusion that I must have said all that the Holy Spirit wanted said!
I hope you will all take the opportunity to take a peek at what Sister Patricia has put together in this book and maybe even consider buying a book or two. (No - I don't get royalties, just a by line!)
I, myself, have ordered two. One for our family and one for a gift. I just haven't decided who to give it to yet. I have offered it to one (extended) family member who is non catholic, but they have not shown any interest so... any number of possibilities are open. And Christmas is coming so you better start making your lists. Read more!
I knew I was safe...
Yes, while I was digging bigs of green pepper out of the bottom of the washer and shaking it out of my sons' clothing at 1 am - I knew I could have offered to give the winning guess a million dollars and I would be safe!
Now - I have been so busy - I have yet to ask my two sons why they had a fresh green pepper in their laundry, but I am sure that to their young minds - it will be a perfectly reasonable explanation.
Thank heavens it wasn't any of your guesses - except maybe the 23 dollars or the lottery ticket. I wouldn't say no to a few GREEN bucks in the bottom of the washer. But no thanks to the skulls, frogs or earth worms or an insect of any kind! {{shudder}} Read more!
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
You get three guesses...
Once more I have found a most interesting treasure after a load of laundry. This laundry belonged to two of my sons aged 11 and almost 10.
I feel so confidant that you can not guess, that if I had won the lottery I would promise to split the winnings in half with the reader that guessed what it is.
Come on now - don't be shy - draw deep in to your memories of your youthful adventures or those of your children's and then post your guesses in the comment area.t,
And now I am off for one more round of packing at the old house - while praying fervrently that this is, for me at least, the last trip. Read more!
I feel so confidant that you can not guess, that if I had won the lottery I would promise to split the winnings in half with the reader that guessed what it is.
Come on now - don't be shy - draw deep in to your memories of your youthful adventures or those of your children's and then post your guesses in the comment area.t,
And now I am off for one more round of packing at the old house - while praying fervrently that this is, for me at least, the last trip. Read more!
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Images from my memories
Sadly, none of these images are actual photos that are mine as many of these times were never captured on film or if they were are lost, or still packed away so I had to hunt the internet to be able to share these memories that are haunting me this weekend.
There is a battle occuring in my soul and as I wrestle with this sudden homesickness I am experiencing for Canada or a home in an area that would allow me to enjoy once again scenes like these, as well as the climate they all occur in, I am trying to listen to Christ to see if there is an actual message in this deep longing or is it just one of those 'the grass is always greener' moments. It is more likely just that, given the recent stress of our move. Still, if it is Christ - I pray I can discern his message.
Anyway - here are some internet photos that will allow you a peek of what is within my heart this weekend. If I had our baby albums, there would also be tons of baby pictures littered through out this post since I am wallowing in those memories as well, convinvced that if I could do it all over again - I would do a much better job this time. And maybe I would. Lucky for me, while I can not do it all over again with my four oldest , I still have eight lovely souls left to love, cherish and guide. Read more!
There is a battle occuring in my soul and as I wrestle with this sudden homesickness I am experiencing for Canada or a home in an area that would allow me to enjoy once again scenes like these, as well as the climate they all occur in, I am trying to listen to Christ to see if there is an actual message in this deep longing or is it just one of those 'the grass is always greener' moments. It is more likely just that, given the recent stress of our move. Still, if it is Christ - I pray I can discern his message.
Anyway - here are some internet photos that will allow you a peek of what is within my heart this weekend. If I had our baby albums, there would also be tons of baby pictures littered through out this post since I am wallowing in those memories as well, convinvced that if I could do it all over again - I would do a much better job this time. And maybe I would. Lucky for me, while I can not do it all over again with my four oldest , I still have eight lovely souls left to love, cherish and guide. Read more!
Besides the cooler temperatures, I think what Hugo and I miss most are the drives in the country we would take as we drank in the views of rolling hill sides blanketed with farms, usually dairy or beef with a few being sheep farms. And of course in the fall we loved the colours that the countryside presented us with along with the wonderful bounty of apples, apples and more apples.
A scene I was priviledged to view a few times from my living room window when we lived way up north in the province of Quebec in the small mining town of Gagnonville. This town no longer exists as it was plowed back into the ground once the mine had been stripped dry of all its iron ore. At least once, as a school outing, I recall being taken in wagons pulled by skidoos to the outside limits of town where a sledding team was kenneled.
I miss the dry crunch of the snow under my feet and temperatures so cold that somedays a deep intake of breath would glue the insides of your nose together. However, when I find myself pining for these days I try to remember how annoyed we were our last winter in Canada and it snowed on MOTHER'S DAY! When one of our local priests claimed "Mia Culpa, I love snow and have often prayed it would snow on Mother's day" - he shortly therafter found himself transfered to Dallas... Texas. Me thinks the Bishop was not as fond of snow as our priest was.
NB is famous for its covered bridges.
The bath house on Minister's Island.
This is the road that literally warns you to remember that the tides waits for no man. Something a few friends and I would have done well to remember one night while roasting marsh mellows out on the rocks a few miles in the other direction... This road is accesible only at low tide and takes one to Minister Island. When I became a teenager, I was, for two summers, a tourguide on a boat where I rambled on about Minister's Island as well as its famous bathhouse and the fishing weirs that surrounded it. I learned that summer, ladies, that what gives the sparkle to much of our facial make up is the sparkly material found in the scales of fish. Now doesn't that make you feel gorgeous!
This is like the type of beach I was most familiar with as I grew up in and around the Maritimes.Something I have not yet found internet picures of that we actually have many photos of are our two favourite "pioneer" villages, Kings Landing and Upper Canada Village. Hugo and I visited Kings Landing a number of times, both while we were dating and after we married. I have in one of our photo albums a photograph of he and I posed in front of a large boat at Kings Landing. I was about 6 months pregnant with our first born, Amanda. I have a number of photos of Upper Canada Village as well, but even more of the Pre-Historic World park nearby. And these photos are filled with our four oldest children as they stared at those huge recreations of the monstors of the past.
Well - I hope you have enjoyed my trek through the past and now, if was not so dang hot, I would go make myself a hot chocolate, top it with real whipped cream and dream of tobaggans and snow and wood stoves. Instead, I am going to slip into a pair of clean shorts and cross the road to the store to buy some cold soda for my thirsty and hot brood.
Cheers!
Friday, August 11, 2006
Another leg in the journey in life...
Once a long while back, while we still lived in Canada and the number of our children was still in the single digits, I managed to squeeze in the attendance of an Opus Dei talk. There was one point that the priest made that night that has really stayed with me, not that I have made the proper use of it - but none the less it has been there, floating about in my memories, sometimes actually making it to the forefront - where it really should have been at all times. He stated, really quite simply that in order to effect a desired change in our loved ones we must, (not should - must) model this desired behaviour to our loved ones before trying to change their behaviour.
Of late I have noticed a lot of squabbling between the children and short tempers are prevailing as are sharp tones. A lot of this behaviour can be blamed on the stress of our recent move, along with the accompanying later nights and a messed up schedule. Still, as I thought about trying to turn all of this around, particularly the manner in which the children are speaking to each other, the memory of Father‘s statement was triggered again and I felt guilty. How nicely have I been speaking to my children or even to my husband? How patient or understanding have I been? Just what kind of example have I been to my family? Have I been the heart that, as mother, I am called to be?
The answers that I came up with were not so flattering. For example, when faced with a grumpy teller at the bank, with a stuffy red nose, who treated me like a four year old that was not following directions properly in class, had I simply, humbly offered it up to God; or had I grumped and complained about that chit of a teller and her nerve… When a child steps on my foot accidentally, while still in their heavy shoes, do I refrain to only an explanation of pain and then smile understandingly when the child apologizes or do I snap at them to be more careful? When I am disappointed because I cannot find the book I had put aside to read during my free time in the afternoon or before bed, do I calmly offer it up, ask for help to find it; or do I stomp about the house grumbling about how nobody cares about anybody else’s belongings and so dampening everyone else’s spirits while also ruining their quiet time?
And if that is my behaviour - should I really be so surprised when this is the behaviour I see exhibited by my children?
The next thought that came to me was that if I wanted to model better behaviour to my children, I needed to better understand why I was not being more patient, more loving and more tolerant. There are many reasons for why I might not be being a better model of a loving heart - some quite simple and others more profound.
I realized in order to answer this - I needed to look at how I was caring for myself. Was I eating well or missing meals, therefor becoming grumpy because I was hungry? Was I getting to bed at a reasonable time or staying up late because I had not managed my time well and I had things still to be done long past a reasonable bedtime. Was I taking time to refresh myself spiritually both through prayer and the Sacraments?
Again, I did not like the answers I was coming up with and I realized that I some work ahead of me, but like it or not, I had the moral obligation to God, my husband, our children, and to myself, to take up this new challenge of caring better for myself.
Wish me luck, eh, as I head forward on another leg of my spiritual journey. Read more!
Of late I have noticed a lot of squabbling between the children and short tempers are prevailing as are sharp tones. A lot of this behaviour can be blamed on the stress of our recent move, along with the accompanying later nights and a messed up schedule. Still, as I thought about trying to turn all of this around, particularly the manner in which the children are speaking to each other, the memory of Father‘s statement was triggered again and I felt guilty. How nicely have I been speaking to my children or even to my husband? How patient or understanding have I been? Just what kind of example have I been to my family? Have I been the heart that, as mother, I am called to be?
The answers that I came up with were not so flattering. For example, when faced with a grumpy teller at the bank, with a stuffy red nose, who treated me like a four year old that was not following directions properly in class, had I simply, humbly offered it up to God; or had I grumped and complained about that chit of a teller and her nerve… When a child steps on my foot accidentally, while still in their heavy shoes, do I refrain to only an explanation of pain and then smile understandingly when the child apologizes or do I snap at them to be more careful? When I am disappointed because I cannot find the book I had put aside to read during my free time in the afternoon or before bed, do I calmly offer it up, ask for help to find it; or do I stomp about the house grumbling about how nobody cares about anybody else’s belongings and so dampening everyone else’s spirits while also ruining their quiet time?
And if that is my behaviour - should I really be so surprised when this is the behaviour I see exhibited by my children?
The next thought that came to me was that if I wanted to model better behaviour to my children, I needed to better understand why I was not being more patient, more loving and more tolerant. There are many reasons for why I might not be being a better model of a loving heart - some quite simple and others more profound.
I realized in order to answer this - I needed to look at how I was caring for myself. Was I eating well or missing meals, therefor becoming grumpy because I was hungry? Was I getting to bed at a reasonable time or staying up late because I had not managed my time well and I had things still to be done long past a reasonable bedtime. Was I taking time to refresh myself spiritually both through prayer and the Sacraments?
Again, I did not like the answers I was coming up with and I realized that I some work ahead of me, but like it or not, I had the moral obligation to God, my husband, our children, and to myself, to take up this new challenge of caring better for myself.
Wish me luck, eh, as I head forward on another leg of my spiritual journey. Read more!
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